


Through Hell and High Water

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Marvelous Omens [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, American Civil War, American History, American History Is a Minefield, Angel Steve Rogers, Angel/Demon Relationship, Babylon, Captain America: The First Avenger, Code of Hammurabi, Comfort Food, Delhi Sultanate, Demon Tony Stark, Fandoms Collide!, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Marvel Trumps Hate 2019, Non-Graphic Discussion of Slavery, Pre-Relationship, The Garden of Eden, The Plagues of Egypt, Transatlantic Slave Trade, World History, World War II, World's Columbian Exposition, biblical history, mentions of HYDRA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: “I’m not sure anyone’s noticed, to be honest,” Katriel said, with a shiftiness to his expression that the Serpent found terribly appealing despite himself. “I guess I can say I’ve lost it, if anyone asks.”“You are one strange angel,” Stark said, grinning broadly, and the angel grimaced. “How in Heaven did you wind up with this job?”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Marvelous Omens [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921333
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	Through Hell and High Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emmeline_Arden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmeline_Arden/gifts).



> Many thanks to EmmelineArden for their generous donation to [Rainbow Railroad](https://www.rainbowrailroad.org/) for [Marvel Trumps Hate](https://marveltrumpshate.tumblr.com/) 2019!
> 
> Thank you also to pyracantha for the awesome beta, theemdash for characterization help, pigsflew for cheerleading, and to the GO Events, Kink Meme, and MoFu servers for ideas. This one really took a village. There _will_ be an in-'verse apocalypse fic at some point, probably next year, what with everything going on.
> 
> There's some heavy content in this fic, including discussions of slavery, so feel free to drop me a message if you want to be spoiled for any content before tackling it. If you want to skip the section discussing slavery, you can skip "Jamaica, 1806" and resume at "Chicago, 1893".
> 
> End notes contain some historical trivia.

**The Garden of Eden, 4004 BCE**

"Well, that went down like a lead balloon," said the Serpent of Eden, slithering up the side of the wall and shifting to a human form to stand next to the angelic Guardian of the Eastern Gate. The Serpent, whose actual name was Stark, was on the shorter side and compact, with short black hair, a matching goatee (which many years later would inspire artists to portray his Lord, much to his chagrin), and eerie, golden eyes, the centers split with vertical, snake-like pupils. His black robes were little more than layers of tattered fabric, damaged in the Fall, but his wings, night black and tipped with scarlet and a hint of gold, were perfectly groomed and shining. When he shifted, the occasional flash of light could be seen where a crack in his corporation’s chest let his celestial energy shine through. More damage from the Fall; he’d have to do something about that.

"I'm sorry, what?" the angel asked, turning to him slightly. He was tall and broad and muscular, everything a warrior angel should be, with blond hair that shone in the sun and blue eyes that contained a kindness that made the Serpent ache. He too wore a robe, in such a pristine white it was almost blue when the light caught it, and his white wings, shot through with blue and silver, looked like they could wrap the whole world in their protection.

The Serpent shook his head to clear it of the mental image. "I said, 'that went down like a lead balloon'," he repeated instead, shading his sensitive eyes with his hand to look out over the blinding sand to where two dark specks that must be the humans moved toward the horizon. "I mean, eat an apple, get kicked out, seems a bit extreme, right?"

"You Tempted them to do it," the angel said, posture as stiff as the wall they stood on.

"Yes, but that's the thing about free will," he said. "They could have said ‘no’." He turned to look at the angel more fully. "Hey, didn’t you used to have a spear?"

"Pardon?" the angel said, but there was something in his expression the Serpent could already read as evasion. A round shield, with a white star in the center, was leaned against the angel's leg, but there was no spear to be seen.

“Yeah, you had a spear,” the Serpent said, sure of himself now. “Flamed like anything, didn’t it? What happened to it?” The angel looked away. “Lost it already, have you, ah...?” he asked, with a bit of a sly grin.

“Katriel, and I’ll have you know I gave it away,” the angel said, and if anything his posture went even stiffer at the admission. “I mean, they’re all on their own out there, they need  _ something _ to protect ‘em, and I couldn’t go with ‘em…”

The Serpent stared, shocked and a little bit pleased. He recalled that most of the angels had been ambivalent at best toward the hairless apes, no matter what God told them to feel about Her newest creations. He _ knew _ there were plenty of angels who hadn’t Fallen only because when the chips were down, they hadn’t rebelled, not because they didn’t agree with Lucifer’s complaints. “And what did the archangels have to say about  _ that _ ?”

“I’m not sure anyone’s noticed, to be honest,” Katriel said, with a shiftiness to his expression that the Serpent found terribly appealing despite himself. “I guess I  _ can _ say I’ve lost it, if anyone asks.”

“You are one strange angel,” Stark said, grinning broadly, and the angel grimaced. “How in Heaven did you wind up with this job?”

“It’s a long story,” the angel hedged.

“Well, I’ve got all the time in the world,” the Serpent said, stretching his arms up and crossing them behind his head. “I love a good story.”

***

**Mesopotamia, 1754 BCE**

Katriel looked on, pleased, as the stonemason went about his work, carving one of the stelae that would contain the king’s new laws.  _ So that the strong should not harm the weak _ , it said, which was something Katriel would happily support. Humans could be so vicious to each other, but maybe a set of laws like this might help.

The stonemason consulted the clay tablets that contained his instructions, before turning back to the large chunk of basalt that would immortalize them. “Should have known you’d have a hand in this,” came a voice from behind him, and Katriel turned to see Stark leaning against the doorframe of the mason’s workshop, golden eyes shining in the midday sun.

“I just encouraged King Hammurabi to write some things down,” Katriel countered, walking over to the demon to decrease the disruption to the mason as he worked. “He came up with all the details.”

“It’s still a little iffy, isn’t it?” Stark said, and Katriel frowned, not sure what he meant. “A man can have an affair, but a woman can’t. A doctor is punished much more harshly if he kills a rich man than if he does a slave.” He gestured broadly. “An eye for an eye, except some eyes are worth more than others.”

“No, it’s not perfect,” Katriel agreed slowly, knowing by now the way Stark could manipulate words to his advantage. “Humans are flawed creatures, sure.” Stark rolled his expressive gold eyes.

“You could have...nudged it a little bit.”

Now it was Katriel’s turn to frown. “It’s Heaven’s stance that humans should be allowed to exercise their free will at all times,” he said.

“Sure, but you could have  _ encouraged _ a little more equality,” Stark said, and Katriel shook his head. “Angel, come on, Upstairs wouldn’t have noticed a few little tweaks. It’s not enough to be against something. You have to be for something better.”

Foolishly, Katriel felt an odd warmth about his middle when the demon called him ‘angel’, even if all he was doing was stating a fact of Katriel’s existence. “They’re supposed to come to it on their own,” he said.

“Hmph,” Stark said, and despite its end, Katriel didn’t feel like he’d won the argument. “Well, I’m going to get something to eat. Join me? The tavern down the way does a great lamb and beet stew.”

“I don’t really...eat,” Katriel said. His energy levels, even after the channeling of large miracles, was renewed by the inherent energy of the universe, and the whole process of digestion seemed unpleasant.

“Oh, you have to try it, it’s great,” Stark said. He pushed out of his lean and looped an arm through Katriel’s, tugging him out of the workshop and out onto the dusty road, weaving between pedestrians and mule-drawn carts to head toward the tavern across the nearby square. “It’s not just roast the meat and eat the veggies raw anymore, hasn’t been for ages. They’ve gotten so creative with it!”

Katriel allowed himself to be lead; they both knew that if he hadn’t wanted to move, Stark wouldn’t have been able to budge him. “If you say so,” he said, slightly bemused by Stark’s enthusiasm. “Do you have currency to buy our food with?” Stark scoffed, waving a hand dismissively, and Katriel made a mental note to start carrying money of his own. Then he wondered if he  _ should _ be making a habit of socializing with Stark, and that distracted him from the issue of money entirely.

***

**Egypt, 1446 BCE**

Stark blessed under his breath, darting around a corner to hide between two buildings as another group of Egyptian soldiers passed by. It wouldn’t do to be caught out after curfew in the slave quarter, not with everything that had been going on recently.

“Who’s there?” a tremulous voice called from behind him, and he spun, hands raised to defend himself, dropping them when he realized who was there. The alley had a dead end, and at its rear stood Katriel, a couple of Jewish slaves huddled at his feet. The humans couldn’t see it, but on the metaphysical plane, Katriel had extended his wings, mantling them to hide the humans beneath the glowing white plumage. It would be enough to protect them from what was coming. Probably.

“What on Earth are you doing outside?” Stark said, stalking up to them. It had been one of the humans who had spoken, but it was likely only Katriel could actually see him in the black of night, even though the unnatural Darkness that had fallen a few days ago had finally gone. “Come on. There’s an empty house not far from here, you can shelter there.”

Katriel hesitated, then reached down to help the humans to their feet, carefully keeping them close as they moved to the mouth of the alley. The small group kept pace as Stark moved down the street to the empty house, ushering the humans inside. “This won’t be enough,” Katriel said, but Stark nodded curtly, and, with a small miracle, summoned a small cup of lamb’s blood, which he dipped his hand in so he could swipe thick stripes of the stuff over the lintel and posts of the doorway. “Thank you.”

“ ‘s not for you,” Stark said, wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant sensation of the blood on his fingers. He dismissed the cup and the mess with another miracle. “They don’t deserve this. None of them do.” He was silent for a moment, staring at Katriel. “I know Your Side had a hand in this.”

Katriel looked away, just confirming Stark’s assertion. “I was told to harden Pharaoh's heart,” he said quietly.

“For G--Someone’s sake,” Stark said, exasperated. “How are they supposed to exercise their all-important free will if you fuck around with them like this?” He moved away from the house, and Katriel followed.

“I’m not consulted about policy decisions,” he said. “I was just given orders.”

“That’s what you always say,” Stark said with a sneer. He rarely found himself truly angry with the angel, but he was now. “That’s what you said during the Flood, and after Sodom. For Her favorite of her creations, Your Side certainly likes killing them in large numbers. And usually for things that aren’t their fault.”

“Stark...” Katriel began, reaching out for a moment before dropping his hand without actually touching him. They rarely touched, and as much as Stark sometimes ached for it, he didn’t want it  _ now _ , not when he was so angry. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t go against Her will.”

“ _ Is _ it Her will?” Stark asked. “Do you  _ really _ know that?”

“It’s all part of the Great Plan,” Katriel said, but there was a hesitance in his voice. In a human, Stark would be able to play on that hesitance with ease, slowly feeding their doubt until it turned into full-blown disbelief; he wouldn’t even need to use any of his more occult abilities to do it. But, as much as he wanted Katriel to understand, he didn’t want the angel to Fall, either.

“Come on, Azrael’s coming, I can feel it,” Stark said, letting the matter drop. He closed his eyes for a moment, turned in the opposite direction he could feel the Angel of Death coming from, and started walking. “Let’s get out of here, there’s nothing more we can do.”

“Where’ll you go?” Katriel asked. He didn’t move for a moment, then hurried to catch up when Stark didn’t stop.

“Anywhere but here,” Stark said. They reached the edge of town, and Stark brought his wings into the physical plane with a snap. All the humans were hiding inside, there was no one to see them, so it was safe to use the fastest getaway at their disposal. Katriel stared at him for a long moment, then shifted his wings, as well, and they took off as one, leaving the city--and the sounds of mourning parents, their wails rising in the night as Azrael moved through the streets--behind.

***

**India, 1240 CE**

“This was my fault,” Katriel said, not even trying to keep the sadness and frustration out of his voice. Stark, at his side, was silent, as they watched construction on Razia Sultana’s tomb. The first female Muslim leader of India, dead in a rebellion after being deposed for trying to spread power beyond just the Turkic nobles who ruled the subcontinent.

“I encouraged her to be more assertive, to not just be a figurehead,” Katriel continued. “I told her to choose the generals and advisors she wanted, not just the ones who would make the nobles happy.” He clenched his fists at his sides. “I told her ‘the people will support you if you make decisions that are meant to help them, don’t worry about anything else’. And look how that ended up!”

Stark was a solid, oddly-comforting presence at his side, letting him rant without arguing with him. In the five thousand-odd years they’d spent on Earth, Stark had become his boon companion, his best friend. It was odd, considering the being who was supposed to be his opposition as his best friend, but Katriel didn’t make a habit of lying to himself, and it was demonstrably true. The Arrangement they’d come to some 500 years ago had just solidified that fact, but even before then, Katriel often felt that Stark understood him, and cared for him, more than his angelic siblings. It had been a bitter thing to realize, but it was undeniably true.

“Hell had me incite rebellion among the Turkic nobles,” Stark said softly, barely audible over the calls of the workers and the sounds of their labor, and Katriel turned to him in surprise. “Not for any particular reason, just to foment chaos and foster their arrogance and pride.”

“Hell doesn’t usually give you such specific instructions,” Katriel said, trying to keep his tone light, after giving himself a moment to breathe and try to calm the surge of anger at Stark’s words.

“They knew you were here, I don’t know how,” Stark said, and Katriel looked at him closely, but he didn’t seem to be lying. “Stane and Hammer just wanted to mess with a project you had your particular hand in, and I couldn’t see a way around it.” He was looking at the tomb, not at Katriel, expression unreadable, especially with the dark glasses he’d taken to wearing to hide his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Katriel sighed. He wasn’t angry, precisely, but part of the point of the Arrangement was to prevent this sort of thing, both the doubling of work and also the working at direct cross purposes like this. On the other hand, he still worried about what would happen to Stark if Hell ever found out they were working together, and they so rarely gave a direct order like this…

“Just...let me know, next time,” he said finally, after a long moment of thinking it over and watching Stark fidget.

“You do get attached,” Stark said, but his tone was surprisingly gentle despite his words. “Want to get out of here?”

“Mm, give me a few minutes,” Katriel said, and Stark nodded. He stepped away, but Katriel could feel his presence, far enough away to give him privacy, but close enough to continue to keep watch. Not for the first time in their millennia of acquaintance, Katriel despaired a little of the fact that Stark’s demonic energy was more comforting to him than the angelic signatures of most of his siblings, but he’d stopped denying it--at least to himself--a long time ago.

After a long time of watching the builders slot the stones into place, Katriel turned away, casting a quick blessing on the site and its builders before going to join Stark, who had found himself a tavern and was digging into a dish of masoor dal and chapatis, a lassi at his elbow, another awaiting Katriel’s arrival. He sat down and ripped a piece off the loaf, using it to scoop up some lentils and get them into his mouth. Eating had grown on him over the years, and somehow Stark always knew the best things to try.

Stark took a long drink of his lassi, then paused, looking at Katriel over the rim of his cup. He raised an eyebrow over the lenses of his glasses, a clear question. Katriel gave him a small, lopsided smile, bittersweet but present, and he could see the tension go out of Stark’s frame. It was hard to stay angry when he knew it wasn’t really Stark’s fault, when he knew there was an even chance something like this would have happened even without his involvement.

“Next time,” Stark agreed quietly, and Katriel nodded, but he knew that while Stark would try to keep his promise, there were things that neither of them could control.

***

**Jamaica, 1806**

The auction on the docks progressed quickly, the ‘chattel’ sold as the boat was unloaded, until only the captain and the sailors remained.

Chattel. Euphemism at its finest. Almost six thousand years of human civilization, and they were still enslaving one another, still exploiting and assaulting and destroying those they had convinced themselves were inferior, or just different. ‘Us versus them’ was one of the worst instincts they’d been hard-wired with.

Tony barely had to lift a hand at all, sometimes.

He looked around for a head of blond hair, for Steve’s tall, broad-shouldered figure to stand out among the people milling on the dock. It only took a moment to spot him, and Tony wove through the crowd to reach him. It had been a while since they’d seen each other, and Tony was eager to bask in the angel’s presence, even if he would never admit it.

But Steve’s face was stormy when Tony reached him, and he could sense the righteous wrath bubbling underneath the facade the angel presented to the world. “Hey, angel, what's ruffling your feathers?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I know you had a hand in this,” Steve said, disgusted, with a gesture Tony knew didn’t just refer to this one, stinking dock, and probably meant the whole trans-atlantic slave trade.

“Barely," Tony said, frowning. "I encouraged a few people to interpret certain Biblical passages as proof that they were justified, but they’d made up their minds already. I just helped them find their excuse.” He looked out over the dock, where a second auction continued at a brisk pace. “I never intended…” He trailed off, making a gesture of his own, meant to encompass ‘all this’, both the auction in front of them, and the whole system it was a part of. He would never have admitted this to anyone else, but Steve could be trusted. And, on some level, maybe he wanted Steve to forgive him, even if he couldn’t forgive himself. “I never imagined it would turn into  _ this _ .”

“You underestimate their cruelty,” Steve said, with a frown of his own. “Sometimes, I wonder if any of them deserve to be saved.”

“Not all of them are at fault, clearly,” Tony said, taken aback, and Steve nodded, but his anger didn’t fade. “It's not about deserving, anyway.” Steve was, traditionally, slow to anger, remaining level-headed even as he dove into the shit of wars and plagues and atrocities, whether natural, celestial, or human-made. Tony wondered distantly what Steve had been up to since he’d seen him last, could imagine him involved with abolitionists and runaway slaves. He’d gotten very good at bending the rules over the years--getting involved in ways that Heaven couldn’t track, or wouldn’t notice--and while it pleased Tony’s demonic nature to see an angel rebel like this, he knew he couldn’t take credit for it.

And that rage he could still sense, throbbing like a migraine, worried him. Not for his own sake, not really, but rather because he knew what Steve was capable of.

And some years later, when he encountered Steve on the battlefield (Tony was wearing a Confederate uniform, but only because it made it easier to sneak around and sabotage their supplies), comfortable in a blue uniform once again, his buttons and epaulettes shining despite the mud and grime, Tony was glad the angel finally had a way to channel that anger rather than letting it eat him up inside.

***

**Chicago, 1893**

Steve stood outside the World's Congress Auxiliary Building, watching the representatives there for the Parliament of the World's Religions go in and out. The event was not strictly part of the World's Columbian Exposition, but with so many people coming to Chicago for the World’s Fair, many other events like this one were planned to coincide. Steve hadn’t had a part in it, but he was glad it was happening. Like Babel, but hopefully without the nasty aftermath.

When he tired of people-watching, he made his way over to the Krupp weaponry pavilion, where he knew he would find Tony, likely arguing with whatever engineers or designers were in attendance. He was excited to explore the fair, and with Tony at his side, he wouldn’t have to explain any strange things he might say while looking around.

Tony was right where he’d expected to find him, his dark ditto suit not standing out, for once, though the red and gold of his waistcoat was perhaps a little flashy. He must have spotted Steve out of the corner of his eye, because he turned to him for a moment and grinned, stopping Steve’s unnecessary heart in his chest for a second, before turning back to the man he’d been haranguing and making his excuses. He hopped down from the display platform and sauntered over to Steve, while the angel tried to calm his fluttering heart and relax his breathing. They’d fought the last time they’d spoken, on that dock in Jamaica, and Steve had wondered if that would change the way Tony always affected him, but it seemed like it hadn’t. If anything, absence had indeed made the heart grow fonder.

“They’re calling it ‘The Thunderer’, can you believe that?” Tony said, in obvious disgust, and Steve assumed he was talking about the breech-loaded artillery he’d been gesturing wildly at when Steve had walked up. “Ridiculous.”

“What would you call it?” Steve asked, and Tony stopped still for a moment, making Steve laugh. Tony waved a dismissive hand and started walking, and Steve hurried to follow. He had no idea where Tony was headed, but it was likely there would be food involved. “What have you been up to, Serpent?” he asked as they walked, and Tony laughed, the sound sending a shiver down Steve’s spine.

“Helping invent the safety bicycle, and then encouraging women to wear bloomers and ride them,” he replied, with that sly grin of his.

Steve couldn’t help smiling back. He remembered the bloomer craze in the 1850’s; he’d been a whole-hearted supporter, actually. “How on Earth did you justify  _ that _ ?”

“ _ Fomenting chaos _ with the women’s liberation movement? It was a piece of cake,” Tony said dismissively, but Steve knew Tony well enough to know that was probably a slight exaggeration. Still, he was used to Tony spinning his good deeds to sound like demonic acts, so he didn’t call him on it.

“What do you think of the Fair?” he asked instead, and Tony’s expression became thoughtful.

“The progress on display is pretty wonderful, but there’s still…” he trailed off, and Steve nodded, thinking of the exhibits of ‘barbarians’ on the Midway. “Love what they’ve done with the electricity, though.”

Heaven loved ‘the American Experiment,’ but Steve was less enamored. Still, he let Tony prattle on about the exhibits in the Electricity Building, with a tangent to complain about the statue of Benjamin Franklin outside -- “The whole thing with the key and the kite was  _ my _ idea, you know” -- as they made their way toward the food stalls.

“Dessert first,” Tony announced when they arrived. “Bertha Palmer came up with this great chocolate thing. It’s called a ‘brownie’. You have to try it.”

“If you say so,” Steve said, with a soft, indulgent smile that he hoped Tony wouldn’t notice. The demon didn’t comment, at least, instead taking off for whichever stand sold the treat they were looking for, and Steve followed at a more sedate pace, pleased to be here, in this place and time, despite its flaws and limitations.

***

**The Alps/The Atlantic Ocean, 1945**

**Rogers:** Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?

**Morita:** Captain Rogers, what is your--

**Stark:** Steve, is that you? Are you alright?

**Rogers:** Tony, Schmidt's dead!

**Stark:** What about the plane?

**Rogers:** That's a little bit tougher to explain.

**Stark:** Give your coordinates. I'll find you a safe landing site.

**Rogers:** There's not gonna be a safe landing. But I can try and force it down.

**Stark:** Tell me about the damage, I can see if I can help you fix any of it.

**Rogers:** There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I gotta put her in the water.

**Stark:** Don't do this, you featherbrained-idiot. We have time. We can work it out.

**Rogers:** Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer, a lot of people are gonna die. Tony, this is my choice. Tony?

**Stark:** Sometimes I wanna punch you in your perfect teeth. But I don't wanna see you gone. We need you, Steve.

**Rogers:** I’ll be back, you know I will.

**Stark:** Yes, but how long will you be gone?

_ [silence on the line] _

**Rogers:** Tony?

**Stark:** I'm here.

**Rogers:** I'm gonna need a rain check on that dinner.

**Stark:** All right. A week, next Saturday, at the Oak Room, in the Plaza Hotel.

**Rogers:** You got it.

**Stark:** Eight o’clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?

**Rogers:** You know, I still don't know how to dance.

**Stark:** I'll show you how. Just be there.

**Rogers:** We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your--  _ [radio goes to static] _

**Stark:** Steve? Steve? Steve?

***

**New York City, 2006**

Steve sat on one of the benches overlooking the  _ Three Dancing Maidens _ fountain in Central Park, head tipped up and eyes closed, to better enjoy the sunlight streaming down on this warm spring day. He was still readjusting to having a corporation again, and he was enjoying the little pleasures that came with having a body and existing on the physical plane.

He felt a hint of approaching demonic energy and opened his eyes. Tony was sauntering down the path toward him, dressed in an expensive-looking suit and a pair of flashy sunglasses, a white cup with a green logo in one hand and the other holding a device Steve knew to be a phone pressed against his ear. He suppressed a smile as Tony came closer and Steve could hear him complaining about something, though he couldn’t put together the details.

Tony reached Steve’s bench and threw himself down onto it, heedless of his fancy suit, and tipped his head back, groaning. “OK, I need to go now, so we’re done,” he said into the phone, cutting off whoever was on the other end with a tsk. “Nope, that’s it, bye now.” He closed the phone with a click and then turned to Steve, who tried not to blush. “Welcome back to the Land of the Living, Tinkerbell,” he said, but any harshness in his teasing was softened by the smile that played around the corners of his mouth.

“I understood that reference,” Steve said, and Tony laughed. “What? It doesn’t happen that often since I’ve been back.”

“I bet,” Tony said, shaking his head. “How’s it feel to be back? Settling in alright?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve been gone a long time, a lot has changed,” he said. “Some of it good, some of it...less so.”

“Ugh, the work I had to do while you were gone,” Tony complained, and Steve smiled, knowing the demon was being his usual dramatic self. “I got involved with the Civil Rights Movement for you. A demon marched on Washington, can you believe it? You owe me big time, angel.”

As always, hearing Tony call him ‘angel’ sent warmth shooting through his body and turned his smile shy. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you,” he heard himself saying, and cursed the fact that he couldn’t control his corporation’s blush reaction as his cheeks heated. He wondered, distantly, if they’d talk about what happened the last time they spoke, when Steve’s plane was going down. At the time, the words felt pressing, but now it didn’t feel safe to bring it up.

“I’m sure you will,” Tony said, with a wicked grin. As always, there was an offer there, hidden behind the humor and the ribbing, but Steve just couldn’t accept it. Tony pushed himself to his feet, then looked back at Steve. “C’mon, I’m taking you to the froyo place.”

“Fro...yo?” Steve asked, uncertain, but he stood as well.

“Frozen yogurt, but you buy it by the ounce and you pick the flavor and all kinds of crazy toppings. And the cups are  _ huge _ ,” he added, chuckling. “Just solid sugar, tons of hard-to-count calories. I...may have had a hand in it.”

Steve shook his head, which was usually the best response when Tony got like this. Still, it was good to be here, where he could be exasperated by Tony’s antics. Good to walk down the street in the greatest city in the world with his Adversary and only companion at his side, off to explore some new human invention.

_ Oh, it  _ is _ good to be back _ , Steve thought to himself, casting a sideways glance at Tony, and sighed contentedly. For the moment, at least, all was right with his world.

**Author's Note:**

> On Names:  
> The name "Roger" (from which "Rogers" comes) means "fame/renown/honor + spear/lance". "Katriel" means "crown of god"; "Steven" means "crown".
> 
> On Food:  
> \-- The lamb and beet stew comes from some of the oldest extant recipes, four tablets from Babylon, and a few years back, some scientists and cooks prepared them.  
> \-- I used modern food words for the Indian dishes, mostly because I don't know what they would have been called, but humans have been making dishes very similar to modern curries for thousands of years.  
> \-- The first brownie, made with nuts and glazed with apricot jam, was invented by Bertha Honore Palmer, wife of the owner of the Palmer House hotel, for the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition.  
> \-- Frozen yogurt was invented in the 1970s, but had a resurgence beginning in 2006.
> 
> Other:  
> \--Razia Sultana's tomb was a pilgrimage site for a few hundred years after her death, and people went their for blessings, though it is now mostly abandoned.  
> \-- The Oak Room at the Plaza Hotel in NYC was a place for "discreet gay men" to meet in the early 20th century.
> 
> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/629097064016527360/through-hell-and-high-water-melayneseahawk)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


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